


25 Days

by paperairplain



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Domestic Avengers, F/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 14:17:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19252882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperairplain/pseuds/paperairplain
Summary: This is my first fic for marvel. I hope you wike it. Feel free to comment or anything.





	1. What She Deserves

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic for marvel. I hope you wike it. Feel free to comment or anything.

_Steve,_

_If you’re reading this, then shit, I’m a genius._

_The moment Nebula mentioned the death of her sister on Vormir, I knew there was something off. An alien, a supernatural entity or god knows what could be there that allowed Thanos to murder Gamora._

_I wrote this as an insurance; you know I wouldn’t let Clint walk away from that planet not breathing. I really hope I just happened to forget to throw this letter away that’s why you’re able to read it, but I’m sure that’s not the case. For that, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Steve._

_When we were at Sam’s nine years ago, I made a vow to myself save your life when the time calls. And when Peggy died I made another vow – to never let you be alone. Turns out I could only keep one._

_Steve, whatever happened to me, for the love of god, do not blame yourself for it. Besides, it was more than enough that I get to see you all – Clint, Tony, Thor, Bruce, and you – in one room again. It should be fitting that I write something for the others, but for some reason I wanted my words only for you. I couldn’t, even now that I am scribbling this, pinpoint who you are to me, but I am sure of the fact that you that made the last decade bearable. You were more than a friend, I guess, and for that I am grateful._

_You’re a good man, Steve. And because of that promise me one thing – live. If there was one thing I wished for other than bringing everyone back, that is you get the beautiful life you deserve. Please live, for me._

_I don’t know what to say anymore, and I’m pretty sure you’re still mad at me. Please know one last thing though – you were the last person that crossed my mind._

_See you around, Rogers._

_Natasha_

* * *

Steve folded the lengthy letter he saw upon Natasha’s bed this afternoon. Before dusk came in he had settled into fixing whatever was left of her belongings. After all, no one had the guts to touch her things, let alone mention her after they got back from the time heist. Everyone’s attention was directed to the retrieved stones – Tony rechecking he gauntlet for the hundredth time, Bruce and Rocket helping out Tony, Thor and Nebula gearing up for their plan.

His suit hugged his muscular figure like before, and then it clicked. Natasha’s suit, she had to have another. In that way, even when she was not there, somehow she would be. That was the least he could do for her.

The door was ajar when he reached her quarters – a well-lit simple room basked in fading sunlight, filled with books of all sorts, mostly in historical genre, few vinyl records stacked up well, and piled up clothes folded in one corner fresh from the laundry machine.

_“You here to do your laundry?”_

Her words echoed in his memory with a ting of pain. A tear threatened to escape, but he focused on finding an extra suit stashed somewhere. He opened her closet, and there he found clothing he already saw Natasha in.

_“Hi.”_ Her words hit him again as his fingers brushed past the leather jacket she wore on the helicarrier that day. Eleven years it had been, but the memory of greeting her still had a mark on him. This time it was harder to blink the tears back.

Another hoodie was hanging beside it. It was the one she wore while they were undercover in Washington. _“Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable.”_ The kiss, the running, the talk in Sam’s house, every moment rushed through him like a train in full speed. Steve’s hand balled into fists. He couldn’t do it. Of all the battles he has gone through, the one thing he couldn’t win is fight back tears, not when those tears are for people he cared about, not when they’re for Natasha. He sank to his knees in front of Natasha’s dresser crying, giving in to the hollow energy that seemed to suck his chest in.

He rested his head against the end of Natasha’s bed as he caught up with his breath, his throat feeling dry and swelled as if being choked. The lingering scent of Natasha’s perfume and the silence that hang in the air were his company while he took in the emptiness of the room and filled it with his own thoughts.

Why did she have to go? Why her when she was the one who started it all? The time heist would not be possible if she wasn’t there, alone in the compound overseeing everything. And he could count with his fingers the number of times he visited her.

Regret, pain and guilt filled his tears that took seemingly-endless minutes to stop. As he sucked air between his teeth, his legs found the slightest energy to stand again, and he took off his friend’s suit from its hanger. He laid it carefully on the bed, as if Natasha was watching her, before folding it neatly. She’d probably be annoyed by touching her stuff, he thought.

As if the suit wasn’t enough, he proceeded to the stumbled books and placed them in their respective genres in her bookshelf, to the newly-washed clothes and placed them in her drawers, and to the earphones in a messy knot beside her laptop sitting on the middle of the bed. She must’ve been watching a movie the night before. He could bet his life that it’s Mean Girls.

_“What? Rachel McAdams is hot.”_ That’s what Natasha replied with crooked eyebrows when Sam teased her about it. Steve didn’t say anything though, every time she watched it while they were in hiding. He somehow knew why.

It was between coiling her earphones in a neat tie and carrying her laptop to her desk when a folded piece of paper fell on the floor. A letter.

* * *

 A knock on the door dragged him out of his drowning thoughts.

“Cap, everything’s set,” Tony called, half of his face behind the door.

Steve tucked the letter between his fingers before picking Natasha’s suit up from the bed and waved it for Tony to see. “I thought she’d want to be there, if we… _when_ we bring everybody back.”

Tony walked in and sat beside him on the bed. “It’s what she deserves,” he sighed.

No words followed. Neither of them could articulate the void that drained the life out of the room.

“You know, I think Romanoff would kill me if she saw me sitting on her bed, don’t you think?” Tony asked in a half-comedic, half-amused gaze at him.

Steve couldn’t help but smile at his friend’s humor. Only Tony Stark could break silence that way. “I think she’d kill us both,” he replied.

Tony patted him on the lap before exiting first and waited on the door for him. With that, Steve had the chance to slip the paper in his belt. For a brief second, he paused by the doorway before he closed the door behind him, and he could swear it lasted a lifetime as he took in every remaining piece of her.


	2. Stupid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading this. also my twitter is @natsquartet let's be friends there, and i post there every time i update this :)

_“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”_

Bucky’s words had been ringing in his ears for the last hour. Maybe he was really stupid. If Sam or Bucky were with him they’d surely slap him, twice each. But before doing so, he was sure they’d feel the same thing and sit there with him, on a bench yards away from the glass panel separating the compound’s kitchen from its external lawn. They would not say a word as they watched their girl busily making herself supper on the kitchen counter. Clearly, he was stupidly selfish for not bringing them with him.

His eyes remained fixed at her as she silently made her way through the dimly-lit kitchen. It seemed that she was making something out of the meat she took out of the chiller a while ago. Russian dumplings? Was it the one she had made for the holidays a year ago? It was called palmenu or pelmeni something, he couldn’t tell. He didn’t care about food despite the slight hint of hunger his stomach was sending him. All his focus was drawn to his friend, alive and well before him.

A few minutes passed and he saw her wiping the kitchen counter clean before taking the dumplings with her to the sitting room. Steve couldn’t help but smile as she stretched her legs out, taking more than half of the sofa, and played a movie on Netflix. If he was right it was that very popular musical film that hit the screen in 2017, something about circus or magic.

Back then watching movies were a luxury while they were on the run with Sam. Although movie theaters were dark enough to cover their whereabouts, they couldn’t risk it. After all, as Natasha said it, the theater cashier might give them tickets for free, all before swooning about the fact that he or she saw the gorgeous Captain America and proclaiming it on twitter.

_“Why me? You’re the one great with charming people into giving you stuff,” he countered while fixing the worn out futon on the bed._

_“God, Rogers,” she chuckled, “you really are old **and** naïve.” Sam laughed with her as he threw the pillows across the room. “Besides, the charm wears off easily, people forget about me the next minute, it’s my special trick.”_

Steve realized how it was true, that she somehow could slip in and out of people’s thoughts so easily, like how a key could fit in the keyhole then be out of it the next second. That was the reason she was alone now, in the massive compound that was supposed to house the Avengers.

They all forgot about her, and even he could not be spared despite the few times he paid her a visit. He looked up and saw their mistake in front of him, enveloping the girl sunken in the old couch all of them once shared in the past, watching musicals and chic flicks with a mood completely opposite of how she felt at the moment. _He_ forgot about her, after all the times she was with him for the past decade, after giving up her all just because she believed in him, and not even the tears could make up for all the guilt gnawing at his heart.

Natasha never noticed his presence. Not even when he read her letter again and again, hoping it would drain the tears out. Was he the last person she thought of? Did he really deserve to have the last space her mind could reach? Sometimes he felt a little mad towards her, because she only wrote to him, and now he was the only one suffering.

A few hours passed and he saw Nat disappear into the hall leading to her quarters, which meant one thing he had been anxious of the past hour – he had to go. He froze as he was about to stand. The idea of leaving his friend again made his feet crumble. Watching the lights in the lawn go out, he sighed and grabbed his duffel bag that contained his suit.

The air was crisp from the early spring winds that swept past the field. It was exactly 40 days before they executed the time heist. With one glance behind him he smiled at his will. For the second time, he admitted to himself, Bucky was right when told him he was stupid. But he didn’t care. Because the only thing that mattered was seeing her again.

** Natasha **

Strauss and Tchaikovsky switched places back and forth in her playlist that resonated through her earphones. It had been an hour of arabesque, pirouette, and all the other ballet movements she had learned in her childhood.

Standing on her toes, she held on the cool metal railing before executing a twirl and a graceful grand jeté across the studio. She remembered the first time she learned that Tony made this for her. She was so entranced by the fact that at least one part of her past was worth keeping, and that Tony never changed his judgement of her despite reading her file. He even gave her ballet shoes for the holidays. Wanda soon saw the dance studio herself, and Natasha knew she had to teach her basic ballet as a part of her training.

_Wanda._

She halted mid-track as she was about to do an assemblé and held on to the nearest railing. Ballet could be the most therapeutic thing to exist, but even it could not stop her in reliving the memories of her worst nightmare. How she wished it was just a nightmare.

As she remembered the sight of Wanda’s ashes spread over Vision’s body, Rhodey’s voice as he called repeatedly for Sam, Okoye holding T’Challa before disappeared, she became paralyzed. Her lungs seemed constricted that she started gasping for air while looking down at her feet.

She closed her eyes in desperation, and with a shaky breath she straightened up again, ready to stand on her toes for another pirouette. That was until she saw the reflection of a familiar figure topped with blonde hair standing behind her. Natasha quickly turned to him in a beat.

“Who told you to be here?” She tried her best to sound more demanding than surprised. If she was right, Steve looked more in shock than her, like the face he had worn after seeing Bucky for the first time in the streets of Washington.

Steve’s parted lips then formed a tight smirk, “Is that how you greet a friend?”

“Well, _friend_ , I didn’t know you’d be back, and I’m kind of in my personal space here.” She twisted her body to acknowledge the studio as her feet shuffled towards the entrance.

He crossed her arms and leaned steadily against the door frame, a gesture that always made her smile for a reason she couldn’t quite comprehend. “There’s nothing here that says it’s your bedroom.”

“Getting sassy now, Rogers?”

Steve laughed at her usual humor, but she could sense the odd deep breaths he cultivated from his lungs as she moved an inch closer. She didn’t mind it though.

“Well, suit yourself there, I still have about 30 minutes for self-care,” she said, grabbing a towel to wipe the beads of sweat that lined her forehead.

“I think I’m just going to make breakfast now.”

“Go on. I’m scared you might puke there just by seeing me dance.” She had made her way back in the center of the dance floor, and pressed the play button in her phone. The music flowed back in her veins as soon as it played, and she closed her eyes in hope of the return of the serene atmosphere she had earlier. The harmony of the piano and violin was loud enough to drown her anxious thoughts, but not enough to block Steve’s words.

“I could watch you dance forever.”

She immediately plucked out one of her earphones and dropped her feet flat on the ground from a relevé before whipping her head to where Steve standing, only to see with her wide eyes that he had already left.

The smell of sausages welcomed her as she stepped foot into the kitchen, mixing with the scent of her shampoo. Steve eyed her momentarily as she continued to rub the towel against her freshly washed red hair. Five years ago she’d step out of the shower with a white bob, only to meet the two men waiting for their turn to use the bathroom. Showering first was a part of the bet she won during one of the many card games they played. Now, her hair was longer and redder that it had ever been with a silver blonde edge. Not that she didn’t want a haircut, but being alone most of the time made styling oneself more uninteresting.

“Wait, they’re almost done,” he said, breaking the morning silence.

“Thank you for this. Actually, I should be sorry. It’s the host that should be cooking for the guest, not the other way around.”

Steve lightly waved his hand in the air, “It’s an unexpected visit, don’t apologize.”

She opted to grab plates from the cupboard, but he motioned her to the kitchen island. “Hey, leave it to me.”

Still, with her back turned to him she continued getting utensils while tiptoed, “I have hands, Steve. It’s not like I’m gonna die when I set the table for us.”

Back in the red room, they said that one of her innate abilities was her perceptive senses. She could recall managing to dodge a kick from her blind side only after days of training, and during one of their trainings in the winter-stricken woods, she’d be the first to sense a movement yards away from their group. That was why when her friend did not reply for a whole minute, she knew she had to ask.

For a second she thought she saw him staring at her, like the way he did in the studio earlier, mouth slightly open with pained facial muscles. It was like she came out of this terrible horror movie that scared him to death. But when she turned around completely, Steve had his eyes on the floor, both hands clinging to the marble countertop as his weight rested on it.

“Hey, you good?”

Before she could pat him on the shoulder, Steve fixed his posture and returned to getting the last sausages from the pan. Without a word, as he wiped his hands on a cloth, he returned her gaze; blue orbs that expressed an uncommon blend of emotions that was difficult for her to read. He did not blink back, as if he was letting her in but keeping her out of his deepest thoughts at the same time. Neither of them seemed bothered by the heavy ambience while she stood there, trying to comprehend what was going on in those eyes. At first she saw a glint of fear and despondency, but it was quickly replaced by a seemingly phony delight as he smiled.

“I was waiting for the sausages,” he said.

Steve Rogers will always be a terrible liar, she thought.

** Steve **

“So, how’s the apartment?”

Steve looked up from his breakfast. “Uhhh…”

“You told me last week. You didn’t move again, did you?”

He tried to rack in his brain what he was doing forty days before the time heist as fast as he could chew his breakfast down. The way her eyes emitted a darker shade of green did not soothe the way his heart clamored against its cage. Nat was clearly waiting for a reply as her fork dangled between her fingers just above her full plate. _Stupid._ “New York’s fine,” he sighed with relief. “The apartment’s cozy enough to keep this fossil warm.”

“That’s great,” she replied sincerely before stabbing her sausage with the waiting fork. He knew better. The news was great for only one person in the room.

If his memory was cooperative enough to be accurate, at this point in time, he had to meet a couple of friends back in the city that never sleeps. They had agreed to this lunch that somehow ended up making him attend one of the meetings he once dreaded – therapy sessions, as Natasha called it. Dreaming every night of the how Bucky crumbled into ashes, how T’Challa, Wanda, Sam, and all of those who were a part of him disappeared into thin air like they were volunteers in a magic show, how Vision showed nothing but lifelessness – it was beyond unbearable. The snap did more than disintegrate half of the universe. It created a massive hole in his soul no human interaction, no distraction could fill in. No matter how many times he moved and made different art portraits to sell, how many times he tried to look at different parts of life in different parts of the world, nothing could stop the void from growing.

The meetings had helped a lot, to his surprise. He had thought that talking about the decimation of the world was more difficult than having it as a nightmare, but articulating the events worked differently. Although the hollowness was still there, gradually, the expansion ceased. Days passed and the members increased from five to ten, to fifteen, to a number that prompted them to organize a schedule for the whole week. He was part of the Tuesday and Wednesday sessions, and after a month or so that he realized that he wasn’t the only one who needed it.

He looked up at his companion across the kitchen island as he remembered their conversation when he called her, about 30 days from the time he was in now.

_“I’m okay, Steve. Besides, I cannot fit those therapy sessions in my schedule,” Natasha huffed on the other end of the line._

_“It’s not a therapy session.”_

_“Whatever you say, Rogers.” He could tell that she was picking at her nails as she was talking, a habit he unusually noticed from her every time she felt uneasy or overwhelmed. When he met Natasha back in the helicarrier, he was taken aback by the high wall she manifested even when she was not even communicating with him. But if there was one thing that completely changed after they bulldozed S.H.I.E.L.D. down the gutter, it was that heavily guarded wall. He had never doubted Natasha’s honesty since that day, and that honesty, that sincerity, grew more each day when they were with Sam, out in different cities and motels. Underneath all their covers, she allowed him to see through her perfectly sculptured façade. How she would think of Banner in the first weeks of their hiding, how anxious she was every time Vision would borrow Wanda for a few days, the worry that darkened her face when he went home late one evening without leaving them any message, her soft spot for cats on the street, her delight with every infant she sees as they strolled in the park – he saw all that. On very rare occasions she’d jolt up from their shared bed in the middle of the cold night, and he’d be the only one to notice since Sam slept like a baby. She would allow him, for the briefest moment, to hold her as she silently stained her pillow with her tears. Steve wouldn’t dare look at her as her head rested on the crook of his neck. He could not bear the sight of her broken spirit embedded in her face and her haunting past marked by the gloss in her eyes. He never asked. He would just lay still, waiting for her quivering breath to slow down while thanking the heavens that his friend – a world-known assassin bred to bury any human emotion deep within her bones – let him in._

Steve still messaged her about it, and when she still declined it for the fourth time, he decided to pay her a visit, all without knowing that Scott Lang would appear in the front door of the barren compound. The memories that followed made it hard for him to breathe, and he took a second to ease the muscles in his forehead with his fingertips and closed his eyes.

“Do you need some ibuprofen? You’ve been acting dazed since you came here.”

“I’m fine, sorry.”

Nat went back to finishing whatever’s left on her plate, and the sight of her with a full mouth sends his mouth to a smiling slope. They caught up with each other’s whereabouts the whole morning with their usual banter, but at the back of his mind, Steve was checking every detail of the past. The fact that he had not contacted his friend for a whole month weakened and satisfied him at the same time, filling him a mixture of guilt and triumph.

She stood up in her petite stature as she picked up the dishes. “You have plans?”

“No,” he replied nervously, shaking his head. “You?”

“Right now, none so far,” she said while facing the sink.

“Perfect,” he whispered to himself. Last night he promised to himself that he just needed a day. He just needed to see her. But now, checking his memory and his math, he wanted more. Maybe, he hoped, 25 days is more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so, I decided to switch POVs here, but it will be mostly be in Steve's. hope you enjoyed this chapter. all the luv x


	3. Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY FUCK IT'S BEEN SO LONG. I missed writing. College will really do everything in its power to stop me huh ;< BUT I MADE PAST IT!! Hope you enjoy :>

** Steve **

_“Make sure you hit the nose right, Cap,” Sam noted as he kept his chin protruded for the pose. While they waited for Nat, Sam pleaded Cap to make him self-portrait out of charcoal pens. Steve was bemused at the enthusiasm his friend radiated as he dug the tip of the pencil on the thick sketch paper. He tried his best to immortalize Sam’s soft features – his black hazelnut-shaped eyes, the perfectly-trimmed facial hair that lined his chin and lips, his softly round chin and that identifying hairline – accurately on the pad Nat had given him for the holidays. With the many favors and risks Sam has done for him, drawing him was the least he could do._

_“Quit talking or I’d make you look like you’re about to kiss Natasha.”_

_“What is that supposed to mean?” A low raspy voice from the doorway startled their insides. Turning their heads, they saw their blonde-haired companion marching down the hall with paper bags stuffed with goods framed by her sturdy arms. Buying groceries worked in rotations, just like with cooking and occasionally getting take-out for supper._

_“That’s not how it sounds like,” Sam quipped. Steve stuffed a laugh inside his mouth at Sam’s slightly hysterical and timorous tone. He should’ve taken his friend more seriously when Sam pointed out that Natasha somewhat scared the hell out of him._

_Natasha replenished their stocks inside their duffel bags, carefully checking the label of the products before crossing them out of the list written on a post-it note plastered on the mini-fridge. “What schoolboy, afraid of a little kiss?”_

_“It’s not me who needs a kiss here. Try offering it to Cap here, I’m good.”_

_Steve dropped his pencil at once and fixed himself upright on the small chair. “Do you or do you not want to have a portrait?”_

_“Hey easy there, grandpa. I’m just saying, you’re the one that hasn’t had a good, by good I mean, good, time here.”_

_“I told you I’m fine,” he softly replied before getting back to his art piece._

_“Suit yourself. Although, I’m really wondering why you broke up with Sharon, to be honest. A good company is the next thing you need after breaking international laws here and there.”_

_Steve sighed without looking up from his pad, “It seems like you’re the one who needs it now.”_

_“Hey, if you two want to have a brawl here, no blood on the carpet, you hear me? I’m gonna take a shower,” Nat cut in, her voice in a firmer and sharper texture, before she closed the bathroom door behind her. They couldn’t tell if she was annoyed or teasing as well, but she damn made sure they would shut up. Moments like these made their fleeing closer to bearable. Both of them have started to become use to her acting motherly around the two of them, even to Wanda. It did not come as a surprise, though. After all, she was the only one who wanted to keep all the pieces together during the Sokovia accords._

Steve digested the rest of his conversation with Sam that day as he made circular strokes with his pencil on the canvas. He took a glance at the picture opened in his phone gallery before gliding the tip of the pencil downwards, making a curved line just below the circle he had just drawn. That would be Wanda, who was beside the other outlined figure, Bucky.

When he woke up earlier, he found that Natasha had already left. She’d already made breakfast out of poached eggs and left it on the island with a note saying she would be back some time after noon. After a quick jog that effortlessly sent him down memory lane, he happened to thoughtlessly skim through her office, all while restraining himself from touching anything since he knew how she would notice any disorder in a heartbeat. He realized how much space Nat’s office has occupied more since the last time he noted it. She had the right to, because she was the only one who did not bat an eyelash on keeping the decimated world in peace. The used butter knife beside the porcelain saucers glistened with the light orange rays seeping through the half-open window blinds. He was right when he thought that the Russian dumplings he saw Nat was making two nights ago were one of the few occasions she had the energy to make something sumptuous for the average person, and the expiration date on the sausages he fried for breakfast yesterday also confirmed the guilty worry that has invaded his thoughts since he came. It never got better for her since he left the compound. Every time he dropped by he would coax her to go out or eat decent food other than stale sandwiches. She would then throw the ball back and tease him into getting a date. Under the humorous banter they comfortably shared, he had prayed to see the state she was in improve a little, and now, going back forty days only to see nothing but bleak misery shredded every fiber in his body.

To keep his emotions in check he stepped back, only to notice the ballet shoes sitting on the empty desk chair, and his mind fleeted back to the sight his heart endeared. Never in the last eleven years did he have the courage to watch Natasha dance until yesterday, and what he once thought was an impulsive and intrusive move became a moment he would never forget. The delicate movements of her fingertips in sync with the motion of her legs, how her hips would sway a little when the beat permitted it, her unconscious humming to whatever music ringing in her ears, and her composure after landing on her toes – every detail was ingrained in his memory, causing a smile to steer his cheeks apart.

The few picture frames standing upright on his friend’s dark mahogany desk intrigued his already uplifted senses as he made more steps on the carpeted area. The first one on display surely came from her camera roll. She had been the one who initiated to take a selfie while Wanda and Vision were cuddled up on the floor in one of the motels they hid in. He could remember the argument hours before the picture was taken.

_“It’s not like we would get caught at this hour.”_

_“Wanda the cops have heightened their alert after the bomb attacks in the city,” Natasha reprimanded. “One wrong turn and things can go south for all of us, so your lovers’ vacation will have to wait.”_

_“But Vision can disguise-.”_

_“He can pack his suitcase out of here any time before Tony notices he’s MIA,” she countered without letting her finish. Her emerald eyes remained steady with no sign of backing down. It was the first time she had a heated argument with any of them, and it seemed that Wanda was up for a fight too. Just as Wanda was about to open her mouth, the ear-splitting sound of the police sirens wailing across the street silenced all of them._

_It took one whole dry supper to supply Wanda with the courage to apologize to Natasha, and it was time for them to let the chilly night pass. Nat managed to notice Wanda and Vision dozing off first so she grabbed Steve and Sam by the arm before silently taking her phone out for a snap._

The one in the middle is her with the Bartons. Nathaniel was about to turn a year older when Nat had told the team that she’d be out of training to visit the family’s farm. The smile she wore in the picture told a hundred words about how much she loved this family – the first one she ever got. The way she held baby Nathaniel in one arm while holding Lila’s hand with the other spelled out why she didn’t think twice about saving Clint. Steve could only hope she wore the same smile before she did it.

He picked up the third photo that was captured during the time they went to eat on an alien war-stricken shawarma house. Tony’s insisting demand to have a selfie, despite his and Natasha’s efforts to brush Tony off and Banner’s exhausted physique, won over the team. It was difficult to tell if they had really won that time, if one would refer to Natasha’s annoyed glare, or to his own hand cupping his cheek, and to Banner’s and Clint’s zoned out stare. Thor’s confusion at the process of taking a selfie was evident on his knitted eyebrows and stuffed mouth. But one would also know with Tony’s signature smirk of ease and the little thumbs up he gave that they won that day.

“I know you would’ve talked me out of this if you knew I’d go back and do this,” he stared right back to Tony’s eyes filled with mischief on the photo. “We won, Tony. But she… s-she didn’t get to see that,” he whispered, trying his best to ignore the tears welling up his eyes. “God, she didn’t even get to see what you did. She would’ve been so proud, Tony.” He paused for a moment as if he couldn’t bring himself to speak the next pieces of truth out loud.

“And I… _we_ didn’t get to say goodbye.” The end of his words marked the start of his sobbing. Every time he thought he had cried enough, the memory of her last words to him never fails to pump the pain back in his veins. With the photo in his hand he slowly sat on the carpeted floor, surrendering his energy to the shadow that had casted over him since the day of the time heist. She said she’ll see him in a minute, he thought as he leaned against the leg of Natasha’s desk. He was too naïve to think he’d always have her by his side. All these years a part of him somehow depended on her presence, – the way she’d approve or disprove of his decisions, her humorous sarcasm, her comforting words, her loyalty – and looking back, maybe that was best and worst part of losing her. He had no idea whether to call himself lucky to have been with her, to know her for that long, but he was certain that it hurt him tenfold.

Steve geared his seemingly lifeless legs to stand up, and he put down the frame back to where he found it. But before he could turn and proceed to the training room, the final glance at his friend’s pictures echoed his own words back at him. She didn’t get to see her own family back.

“Steve?” Natasha’s voice rung through the intercom. He placed the pencil behind his earlobe before putting the cover on the canvas. The golden rays flowing from the art room’s window that aptly illuminated his work place marked that it was a little bit past noon.

“Ah, finally using the room his boyfriend built for him,” Natasha teased from the kitchen as soon as she realized where he came from. “Thought you’d never go in there again after you lovers’ quarrel.”

He shrugged, “Nah. It only lasted for two years… so.”

Nat brought out a glass from the dish rack and filled it with the newly bought lime juice fresh from the grocery bag. “Want some?”

He nodded as he walked over to her side of the kitchen island. “Lot of goods here, huh.”

“Figured you might find fresh food better than the ones I have here,” she remarked as she stacked the cans together in the cabinet.

“Chocolate and peanut butter spread is fine with me, plus the crumbling pasta and some bananas in the cupboard.”

“Someone did the inventory,” she replied provocatively, her back turned to him.

He perched his hip against the cold countertop, and plainly stared at her moving back and forth between the bags and the cabinets. “Can’t help but notice when I made breakfast yesterday.”

“Always the perceptive super soldier, huh?”

“I sense it well when I know my friend’s not been eating.” And that was when she stopped to return his piercing gaze. He could not remember how they developed it – the way both of their eyes, for the briefest second, communicate without any barrier nor static in their signals, that let them surrender all the truth they could give. And in that short moment, her darkened irises screamed one thing: help.

She had to blink it back, though, and continue to what kept her mind busy and to evade what he just explicitly revealed. He continued, “That was according to the date on the last receipt I saw clipped on the fridge markers.”

“Couldn’t shake off the habit,” she stated dryly, with a small, obviously forced smile. Being on the run for two years embedded a routine in their mental state. Every move was calculated, from choosing their hideouts down to picking the groceries. They were forced to survive a minimal budget, and to ensure the maximizing of their resources, Natasha made a rule that anyone who would go to any grocery store must bring home a receipt. Holidays came and they were astounded by the sight of a stack of receipts in Natasha’s duffel bag.

“That is not the part I’m worried about.”

Hands on her hips she paused her task to face him, “I’m fine Steve-“

“If I didn’t come here, would you do all of this?” He motioned his head at all the products she brought out from the grocery bags. His words were full of tenacity, but he was able to gently say it out loud. Despite everything, that little glimmer of hope was still in his DNA. He was still clinging on to that small chance that his friend got better even without them, even without him. He just had to know, even though whatever reply she would throw back would just feed his guilt. The cold air stuffed with tension from the confrontation did not hold either of them. He could feel her heat radiating between the small space that intermediated them. Natasha could feel his too, and their deep breaths mix as both of them try to comprehend each other’s thoughts. Neither of them knew how long it lasted, but Steve was certain that the watering of her eyes made it unbearable.

“You should know by now my answer to that, then. Great deduction, Sherlock,” she spoke softly with her habitual tight-lipped smile.

As quickly as she went on her feet to turn away from him, he was able to grab her by the arm and pull her to close the gap between them. The last time he was this close to her was when she went to Peggy’s funeral. She said she didn’t want him to be alone, and like what she articulated in her letter, she kept that vow. Guilt and satisfaction flooded him at the same time, causing tears to create rivulets of grief down his cheeks. It took Nat a moment to respond, despite her innate abilities.

“I’m sorry, Nat,” the words came out nearly a whisper as he locked her in a tight embrace. “I shouldn’t have left you here… I’m sorry.”

Her touch against his back as she tried to soothe his painful regrets brought life to his whole being. “Shhh. It’s okay, Steve.”

“God, when will you stop being so strong.”

“Who told you I was,” she whispered in his ear, hands still rubbing on his shirt. Second by second, she allowed her façade to dissolve into the tears he knew she had been holding back for the last weeks, or months to think worse. Both of them stood as each other’s anchor while they both crumble into their own despairs and regrets, hands wrapped around their bodies as if clutching each other for their own lives. Depending on each other – that was the best part between them. And he was glad it remained that way ‘til the very end. She became his rock for the longest time, and now the empty part of him was momentarily filled with knowing the fact that Natasha felt the same. Natasha left a part of her with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, my new twitter handle is @ alltoowidow, let's be friends there! Will tr my best to update more frequently.


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